


What Use Is A Goose?

by molybdomantic



Category: Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: The real treasure was the geese we met along the way, honk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molybdomantic/pseuds/molybdomantic
Summary: Why are we here anyway? An unnamed goose has an existential crisis.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	What Use Is A Goose?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoke/gifts).



It is Monday, and you are a horrible goose.

You wake and stretch your wings, beating once, twice, enjoying the feel of air over your feathers. Today is a fine day for some devilment. The sun is up, the sky is blue, and there is so much mischief waiting to be made.

The order of the day is vegetables, you think. You're feeling hungry but lazy, not like travelling far. Perhaps the garden has some tasty shoots you could steal? Or at the very least, some slugs to eat. They were never your favourite, but at least there's good eating on a slug.

You finish your morning routine and waddle over towards the garden. You insinuate yourself through the gate with ease and hide in a corner. From your hidey-hole a vista of gardeny goodness opens up before you. Cabbages! Hoses! Where to start? You are delighted by the possibilities; the garden is your oyster. You decide to begin with a little hat-theft to warm up. While the gardener is distracted you take the opportunity to dig up all the carrots. Such pleasant mayhem! Much, much later, sated with flowers and trowels, you retire happily to your pied-à-terre, skirting carefully around a bobbing rake. As you settle down to sleep you reflect on the day. You are content with your achievements; you introduced a little mayhem and inspiration into a routine life, and who can ask for more of themselves? Your sleep comes swiftly and is full of pleasant dreams.

* * *

It is Tuesday, and you are a horrible goose.

The morning sun glints off the ripples on the lake in a particularly pleasing manner. You have slept well, your head is clear, and you have not a care in the world. You smile to yourself. There are so many objects in the village that are crying out to be stolen!

You plot a course for the centre of the village. That's always been the best place to find objects; the best place to steal things and replace them with other, less expected, things; the very best place to find unsuspecting humans to confuse. You swagger through a main street full of potential. Today feels like a good day for chaos!

You start by stealing a young boy's glasses and dropping them in a puddle. It's not as dramatic a denouement as dropping them in the lake, but it will do for now. Then you occupy yourself with rearranging the shopkeeper's tables. You make a pleasing display, but somehow it's not as... joyful an activity as it usually is. You had expected more of it, but moving objects is somehow less satisfying than you had anticipated. Perhaps you had built the idea up in your mind too much? You steal an umbrella in an attempt to improve your mood, but it does not succeed. Disgruntled, you abandon it in the puddle and move on. As an attempt at artistic expression you steal a TV remote from the TV shop and dash nimbly away, leaving fifteen TVs displaying the elegant profile of your beak.

Later that evening, you find yourself mulling over the day. The art was more fun than the destruction. Perhaps you need a new direction? Mere chaos no longer seems worthwhile somehow...

* * *

It is Wednesday, and you are still a horrible goose.

You are starting to have second thoughts, though. Why is it that you feel this compulsion to steal, to destroy? You feel dissatisfied with your lot. You kick at some weeds in an attempt to alleviate your bad mood, but it does not help. The rake floats cheerlessly in the corner of your vision as a reminder of your past misdeeds.

In an attempt to recapture the spirit of yesterday's art, you mooch grumpily into the village and try to find a less disruptive diversion for a change. You chance upon a pair of neighbours and look for a way to brighten their day, or at least to not make it worse. You experiment with helping with the laundry, but it only makes them irritated. Instead you try encouraging the neighbors to interact, but you can't help but throw in a few practical jokes, which only leads to bad blood. Along the way someone's vase gets broken and someone else's prize rose gets beheaded, and before you know it you're being chased round the garden again. In a last attempt to lighten the mood, you disguise yourself as a goose ornament. You think it's worked, but the last thing you hear as you give up for the day is the wail of someone discovering their favourite ribbon is missing.

* * *

It is Thursday, and you are ... questioning. Everything. Why must the world be this way? Do you not have free will? Are you fated to only ever annoy those you meet? Contrarily you march into the village, in search of some good to perpetrate.

You decide to make yourslf helpful at the pub - surely there must be a wealth of possibilities there? An obstacle presents itself almost immediately. Your reputation means the publican chases you off on sight, and you almost give up on the spot, but you are nothing if not tenacious and you decide there must be a way around the problem. One quick delivery box later and you are in! And no-one saw, so no-one is annoyed at you (yet).

You start off confidently, helping set a table, and returning a lost boat to the free waters of the river. Surely, you think, no-one can object to these good deeds. You build on your progress by entertaining two of the patrons with your mimicry, and they're so pleased they give you a flower! Flush with your achievements you next borrow a harmonica so you can delight the pub's occupants with the premiere of your latest composition, but this proves to be a step too far. The day ends as it so often ends, with you being chased round the pub, and this time you only escape by confounding your pursuer with a bucket. It's a kinda shitty end to a good day, if you're honest? It's really shattered your good mood. You trudge listlessly home and fall sadly asleep.

* * *

It is Friday, and you are not at all content with your place in the world.

You are in full-blown existential crisis. Why is it, you think, that you are condemned to cause mayhem, when others around you can live a useful and constructive life? What did you do wrong that they hate you so? Do you really deserve this purgatory?

You really don't feel like seeing any people today. Fortunately (and somewhat inexplicably) Friday is the day that the model village is closed to the public, so it offers a welcome respite from judgment (and chasing). You waddle dejectedly through the attraction, lost in your thoughts. What's needed, you decide, is a reset; a grand gesture to show the villagers once and for all that you can reform, that you can become a cheering influence on their lives if only they would give you a chance.

Mid-stomp your eye falls on something shiny, and the spark of a plan forms itself in your mind...

* * *

It is Saturday, and you feel determined to make amends.

You wake up before it's light, before anyone else is awake. You quietly drag a small tree from your home into the main street and arrange it neatly by the water pump. And then you collect decorations, and neatly arrange those too. When you're done, you sneak back into the garden to wait for the village to wake up.

The boy is the first one to spot it, and as soon as he finds your tree you know that the plan has worked. He rushes excitedly round the village, waking up the occupants. With a gleam in his eye he encourages them to come and see the lovely new Christmas tree, covered in tiny golden bells, which now cheers up the village square. The villagers gather round, smiling and content, and a couple start spontaneously whistling Christmas carols.

You judge that this is your moment to reveal yourself, and clad in your favourite red ribbon, you step proudly into the crowd.

The villagers recoil in concern, and move to protect the tree. The gardener tries to shoo you away, horrified that you might steal the tree. You try to explain. "Honk," you protest, "honk honk!" But it does not help; in no time at all you are being chased through the village, bursting through hedges and hiding under bridges. You expect to be saddened, and yet... something about it exhilirates you. The thrill of the chase, the red-faced villagers with their clothes in disarray, the swearing and the shouting. It just feels **right**. You lead them a merry dance, and when you've had your fun you sneak through an unconsidered gap in a hedge and leave them to their foot-stamping and frustrated shouting. And then it occurs to you, as you watch them finally give up and retire irritatedly to the pub, that **this** is how you do good. Your shenanigans are what brings the village together as a community, gives them something to talk about and a basis for friendship. The realisation hits you and you hiss with glee. You can cause havoc and joy at the same time! Surely this is all a goose can need from the world.

* * *

It is Sunday, and you proudly take your place in the world. You are a horrible goose.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to D for beta :-)


End file.
